Bikers, motorcycles, and walking home late at night...

I've had two encounters with bikers in my life...both when I was much younger. Coincidently, both of these stories involve being stranded and having to walk home late at night, and motorcycles...

The first one came to town, and got a job as a bouncer in the bar where I hung out with my friends. The story going around was that he had just gotten out of prison for killing someone, and that he carried a gun. Everyone was terrified of him. One night when I was leaving the bar, my car wouldn't start, so I decided to walk home. As I walked away, he rode up beside me on his Harley and said, "get on." We had never even spoken to each other before; but I did. Walking home late at night wasn't that appealing, and I'd never ridden on a motorcycle; it would be an adventure. He didn't ask where I lived...we just took off. We went to another bar, and had a couple of beers. He didn't talk a lot. 

Afterwards, we went to his place. By then, it was about three a.m. We sat on the front steps, quietly, just looking at the stars. I was kind of scared, because I wasn't sure what he had in mind. In my nervousness, I blurted out, "did you really kill somebody?" He just looked at me with this stone face, and said "NO." I breathed a sigh of relief. Then he said, "I just TRIED to kill him." He smiled, and we both started laughing. He never told me if it was true, and I certainly was not going to ask.:) 

We went inside to the kitchen, and he made some coffee. He had a lot of books about Zen Buddhism. We talked a bit, and he was quite articulate. We became kind of friends, but never actually dated. I was one of the few people he ever talked to. He was only in town for a couple of months; then one day he just disappeared, and no one ever saw or heard from him again. 

My second biker encounter was with a guy named Bear. (not the name his mom gave him) He was a Cajun from "a swamp town in Louisiana..." 

One evening, I had a dinner date with a handsome, well-to-do investment banker. It was our first date. He turned out to be quite arrogant and egotistical. When he suggested that I was extremely lucky to have garnered his attention, and implied that I should spend the rest of the evening reimbursing him for dinner at his place, I told him that I was not sleeping with him on our first date...or probably ever. He was angry, excused himself to go to the restroom, and never came back; leaving me with the tab. The waiter was understanding, and just brought me another drink. 

Unfortunately, I didn't hold liquor well, and when I left, I was a little tipsy; and I had to walk home. My date's car was in the parking lot. (There were a lot of bars and restaurants in the area, so he was still around somewhere) In my altered state, I decided I was going to slash one of his tires. (He had a new Mercedes convertible) Crazy, right? 

I went back inside, grabbed a steak knife off of a table, went back to his car, sat on the ground, and started sawing at the tire. I discovered that puncturing a tire with a steak knife is really hard.:) I began to cry. 

Suddenly, I realized that I wasn't alone. I looked up, and this big, burly, tattooed, Cajun guy was standing over me. "What are you doing, little lady?" he asked. I told him my story. He reached down, pulled me to my feet, took the steak knife away from me, and tossed it in the bushes. "You need this," he said, as he pulled a huge switchblade out of his boot. I watched in horror (and possibly a little glee) as he walked around the car, and effortlessly popped all four tires. Then he gave me a ride home on the back of his motorcycle. He was on his way to Chicago to visit friends, and asked if I wanted to go; but I declined his invitation. However, we stayed in touch and remained friends throughout the years. He passed away a few years ago.